


and the night is gonna be just fine

by Anonymous



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Eventual Romance, F/F, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Self-Discovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 19:17:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13014393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The one where Crowe survives and gets the happy ending she deserves.Let the healing begin.Crowe/Luna with some Pelna/Nyx in the background.





	and the night is gonna be just fine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [volti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/volti/gifts).



> Title lifted from Michael Jackson's Love Never Felt So Good
> 
> Music Inspos:  
> Cliffs Edge - Hayley Kiyoko  
> Beautiful Trauma - P!nk

Crowe’s always been a “believe it when I see it” kind of girl—even when she had the ability to raze daemonic hordes without thinking twice about it, so it’s ironic to think that in spite of the x-rays the surgeon shows of her brain and the pieces of the shrapnel  _that went right through both halves of it_ , the hardest thing for her to accept is the fact that there’s a familiar face in the room when she wakes up. She has vague recollection of anything, of any sort of pain—the little chilling clarity she does have is boundless blacktop ahead of her bike enroute to Tenebrae and then, with no warning at all—boundless  _black_.  _That’s_  what she fixates on while the doctor pokes her here and there and waves a penlight in front of her eyes.  Not the fact that she had almost zero chance of survival and even less for recovery; the fact that  _nothingness_  could have been her last memory on Eos.  The fact that she came this close to leaving this world the same way she arrived: _abandoned, and alone._

It’s a realization that compounds the longer the doctor talks, because right there beside him is someone who waited for her to wake up, someone who’d actually give a shit if she died. Someone who looks unspeakably happy to see her and relieved and altogether in need of ten years of sleep to recover from the worry that is only just beginning to seep out of him—if those sagging shoulders are anything to go by.  

It’s just as well that Pelna is on his feet to catch her after she shoves the doctor away, because hers have decided they aren’t as awake as she is, and to hell with the fucking doctor having a panic attack right now–she's the one who needs desperate confirmation that Pelna’s presence isn’t a dream.

And it isn’t,  _thank the gods it isn’t_ , and he’s definitely lost a bit of weight (she’ll give him hell for it later) but it doesn't diminish the warmth that wraps itself in two solid arms around her frame, awkwardly but only at first,  _because you’re you,_ he’s always teased, and she’s always been proud to acknowledge with a toothy grin and a ’ _That's_ Queen You _to you, bud_ ’. She’s always loved that the name Crowe Altius is uttered by newbies in equal parts terror and fascination; that she’s seen as a paragon of independence and inner strength by the higher-ups.  (It’s almost like she’s a brand, sometimes.  Crowe Altius is her own hero; carries that knowledge as proudly as she does her glaive fatigues.)  The most her brothers can expect in the way of public displays of affection are a punch in the shoulder (or face or gut) and the occasional kick to the shins.  

But death (or rather; _near_ death) has a way of opening your eyes; of making you see things in a new light.  Of making you  _see_ , in particular, the things you take for granted, the  _people–_ no _, family–_ you take for granted.

Pelna doesn’t look like he’s slept at all the entire time he’s sat there keeping vigil at her bedside, or paid any mind to anything closely resembling a personal grooming regimen. He has a beard that makes him look a good twenty years older, she wastes no time telling him, but he just laughs and tells her it’s been a rough couple of months; ‘rough couple of months being the biggest euphemism for:  _'Niflheim tried to fuck us, and Drautos is actually General Glauca who went missing after the failed invasion attempt, and Nyx and Libertus are spearheading the manhunt while I’m stuck babysitting_.  Again.’

She tables that conversation for another time.  

For all the hell she’s put Pelna through (the calendar on her bedside table is a  _dead_  giveaway), the man deserves a lot more than a fucking punch to the shoulder.  (He doesn’t deserve to be punched, _period_.)  And oh, gods, she’s not hugging him; she’s literally trying to  _burrow_  her way into his skeleton simply because hers has weakened under the stress of all the lies and half-truths, the hundreds of  _'you don’t need anyone’_ ’s she’s muttered under her breath just to keep afloat of the chaos that finds a glaive on the battlefield.  So this hugging business—it's  _new, for her_.

And confusing. 

And  _new._

But it feels like the most natural thing in the world to do and…

…and Leviathan take her, Pelna will need to get used to this, because she senses more on the horizon.

“Good to have you back…” he says. 

“Good to be back,” Crowe croaks out into a shirt that is quickly dampening from the tears streaming down her face.  She pokes him in the chest threateningly.  “And if you tell _anyone_ –" 

"Aaaand there she is,” Pelna mutters with a sigh.  Crowe laughs shakily but leans back into him all the same. 

 _Good to just_  be,  _again._


End file.
